Killer
by RirinKamachi
Summary: This is a story about a woman, Genevieve who escapes from her rapist. It's a story I wrote for my creative writing class. It's not my best story ever, but I kinda like it, I guess.


**Short Story- Prisoner**

She has a scar. No, not the kind that men show off saying "I got this one from dirt biking" when it was really from cooking his girlfriend a romantic dinner. No, this scar is deeper than any flesh wound. Even though this happened long ago, the pain is just as vibrant now as it was when it happened. Why does it still hurt, even after all this time? Because she's still his prisoner. He still has control over her, even though he's dead.

Genevieve Alden is the young lady with this problem. She has long, wavy, waist length blonde hair that extends down to her waist, but lately it's been messy and neglected. She doesn't wear eye-liner under her emerald green eyes anymore because it keeps smearing and running due to her emotional breakdowns that occur daily. She's just shy of 6 ft. tall and has an unhealthy skinny body, but nobody can tell because of her baggy wardrobe. She used to be a model back in the early 1920's, but after she turned the age of 18, everything was taken from her.

Why the tragic downfall? It's a long story…

So I hope you have time.

October 7, 1924

Genevieve Alden could hardly sleep last night; she was too excited for her 18th birthday. This was a landmark event that marked her as a legal adult that could live on her own and drink and not get arrested for it anymore. That would be the reason why she made plans to go to a party with Roxie, her best friend. They got up early in the morning and went straight to the DMV and got her ID renewed. After that, they went shopping, went out to eat, andsaw a movie or two, just to burn time until the party.

9:30 finally came around and both girls were dresses in flapper dresses with many sequins and matching hats. Roxie had on black while Genevieve had red, just so she could stand out. They arrived at 10 and the place was really busy. They were let in right away and were stunned by the performers. Their dancing was amazing with dresses to match; Genevieve now realizes what she wants to do when she graduates college.

After they got tired of dancing, they took a seat at the bar and ordered a random drink. When they asked for the tab, the bartender told them not to worry about it, since someone got the tab for them. They looked down the bar and saw a man smiling at them, so they waved, thanking him. Throughout the night, they ran into him a few times and Genevieve danced with him and found out his name was Billy Flint. She started getting a feeling in her stomach that she might like him.

It finally started getting late and Roxie was getting tired, so she went home alone after much argument with Genevieve who was having just too much fun. However, once Roxie was gone, the man talked the young Genevieve into taking her home. Something inside of her told her that this was a bad idea, but she ignored it, thinking it was just nerves from excitement. So, they left the party and went straight to his place… or so she thought.

They arrived at a seemingly run-down apartment complex that had buzzing, blinking old lights, peeling wallpaper, water damage, and missing doors. The place smelled of mold and death and Genevieve instantly began feeling extremely uneasy.

"Is this the right place?" She asked; her voice slightly shaky. "It seems…"

"You making fun of my home?" Billy asked, voice rising with some anger.

"Oh, no, I-"

"Nobody makes fun of my stuff." He interrupted, grabbing the girl tightly by the arm. He dragged her out of the doorway; she was too shocked to scream or make a plea for rescue.

When she finally found her voice, she asked, "Where are you taking me?"

"Your new home, doll." He replied in a raspy voice. Billy dragged her all the way up to the third floor and into a room that had a steel door. When they walked in, there was a brighter light which showed a room that didn't match at all with the rest of the building. There was a lovely four-poster bed with red satin blankets, a furry red carpet, posters of famous actresses of that era all over the walls, and, on the table tops, were photos of more women. When Genevieve was thrown onto the bed, she saw that the pictures were that of his previous victims- bound, gagged, and bloody. He then proceeded to bind the crying girl onto the bed.

"What are you going to do to me?" She asked, voice shaky from pure fear.

He gave her a sinister grin and gave a short maniacal laugh before answering her. "Do you really want an answer to that question?" The girl shook her head slowly with tears washing down her face. He smiled at her and stood up, taking off his shirt. "A more important question would be: 'What _aren't_ I going to do to you?'"

~*~*~

November 27, 1924

It has been a month and 20 days since Genevieve Alden went missing on her 18th birthday. In that time, so much has happened. Mr. and Mrs. Alden had worried themselves into unhealthy states of being, search parties had began and failed numerous times, and police are still looking for her, although not as vigorously as they had on the first few days. Many believe she's dead and few think she's still alive. However, only one person knows for sure about her well-being, but he's not about to volunteer that information.

The man is Billy Flint; serial rapist/murderer that has never been caught for _any_ of his 27 incidences. He holds all his victims in a seemingly abandoned apartment complex and has his way with all the women he chooses. He doesn't remember many of his victims because they're all the same to him. However, the newest one in the collection strikes him as interesting. By now, he would have had two other women done in after Genevieve, but that girl had yet to die. She's lost more blood than all of them, and she's taken more abuse than even he himself considers 'inhumane'.

Why the survival? Well, it is true that she had lost her will to live on more than one occasion, and her heart did stop beating twice, but she always came back. Why? Resolve. She has the resolve to take this man down. She knows she'll get him back for this in this lifetime, and won't give up. The hell she's been through gave her the thought that someone else will go through this, but not if she has anything to do with this.

"You know," Billy sighed to his victim who is half-asleep on his bed, "I'm growing bored of you; why don't you just die already?"

"Because I'm not going to let you do this to another person." They both said at the same time.

"Yes, you say that every time, but I don't see how you'll do this. Look at you. You're skin and bones, you're shaky and weak, and you're tied down."

"That's because you starve me and you tied me down. Tell me how that's fair."

"It's fair because I'm safe from your claws. It's fair… to me."

She rolled her eyes. "I meant fair to bo-"

"My, my, look at the time." He grunted, getting up. "I have to go to work. Do me a favor and give up on heroics and die already! I'll be back in a few hours." At that, she shut the heavy steel door.

Once again left alone to herself and her weariness, Genevieve is left to think. "How do I get out?" Her college major in science only gave her so much to work with, since she was only in the first half of her first semester. Her original plan was to break out of the rope when the material gets weak from being saturated in blood, but he kept changing the ropes. She could keep twisting her hand in it and weaken and stretch the rope, but her raw skin stings and her frail little wrist would probably break first. She also _could_ chew through the rope, but it's just out of her reach.

Defeated by logic, the girl wastes away another night, trying to do something she used to do all the time: clap. She remembers the times she could clap. She used to go to the opera with her parents a few times a year, and she clapped then. She clapped in rhythm with some southern songs she heard on the radio with her best friend. She even clapped out of sarcasm when someone made a true ass of themselves. Why can't she do this now?

"Pathetic." She sighed to herself. She brought her hands up and swung her arms together, only to be stopped by the _twang_ of the rope. She tried again, but with some more force, only to be thwarted once more. So she keept trying, each time getting more and more force behind it, until finally, nothing works, but she hears the faint sound of wood splintering. She looks at the other end of the rope and an idea dawned on her: he may have changed the weakening rope, but he never did anything about the weakening headboard.

Knowing she was physically weak, she thought better of it. However a tiny voice kept poking at her subconscious. Keep going," it beckoned, "You can beat him."

~*~*~

The cold of the winter evening was a shock to the bare skin of the now _ex_-prisoner. Genevieve managed to escape from the hell she called home for the past month or so. She was excited, but at the same time on edge, worried she'd be found again. Totally naked and unknowing as to where she was, Genevieve took off into the night and went straight to the center of the city. She saw a gas station that was just closing and the clerk was outside, locking the doors. Overwhelmed by the feeling of relief, she ran to the man, crying. The late-shift, 18 year old employee spun around and was shocked to see a woman, beaten, bruised, and naked running straight toward him.

"Who the-"

"Please help me…" She cried, just as she passed out. The man caught her and panicked, not knowing what to do in this situation. But, quick thinking told him to put her in his car and drive her to the hospital.

He pulled up to the entrance of the emergency care sector where she was attended to immediately.

~*~*~

"… and she has a lacerated kidney and there's lots of internal bleeding. It's a wonder she's still alive." Genevieve drifted back into consciousness to the voice of the nurse speaking with someone.

"Will she be okay?" Genevieve felt her chest pound faster from joy when she heard her father's voice.

"She's stable for now, but only time will decide her fate." The nurse solemnly replied. "We'll do everything we can, but there are no guarantees at this point."

"…ad…" Genevieve managed to form part of a word, but her voice hurt too much to say a lot. "Daddy?"

"Gennie?" Her mother squeaked. "Genevieve?! Are you awake honey?!"

"Mom…?" Genevieve knows she's too tired to do anything, and knows her grogginess will take over soon, but she was determined to make sure this isn't just a dream.

"Yes honey?" Her mother replied, choking back tears.

"I love you…"

"I love you too, baby." Genevieve's vision was very blurry, but she could tell her mother began crying into her husband's chest. "We were so worried."

"Mom…?

"Yes, sweetie?"

"I'm going back to sleep now… I'll be back…" At that point, she drifted back out of consciousness.

This time, she fell asleep again for a week. It was an induced coma to help her heal faster. For seven days, she lay in the hospital bed, almost motionless, but healing quicker than doctors anticipated. When she finally came to on the seventh day, all her wounds were faint scars, her bleeding had stopped, and all was well, except for the fact she was much too underweight. But, a few weeks at home with her parents can fix that right up. After she checked out, and filed a lengthy and detailed police report, she finally got the chance to go home, safe and sound. A police officer was charged with the responsibility with being a kind of bodyguard and always watched the house, only switching with a new guard every 12 hours.

Another week had passed, but this time, much more pleasantly. She was well fed and cared for, caught up in her college classes, and she gained some weight, bringing her to a healthy level. Only one obstacle left: regaining confidence.

But, one day, December 9, 1924, a news report claimed television stations all over town. The body of a man, Billy Flint, was found in an abandoned apartment building. He was dead; cause: suicide. He had taken cyanide and hung himself, broken glass and razor blades covering the ground below his body probably incase the rope snapped before his passing.  
One would think that, upon hearing this news, his only surviving victim would be pleased and freed from the emotional torment. However she was not. She didn't believe the report, no matter how much she wished she could. There was a nagging in the back of her mind, a voice, actually. No matter how she drowned it away with music, it was still there, flooding her subconscious.

"You're still mine." It would torment in his voice. "You'll never be free. Don't think you're so powerful just because you survived; it was by my kind grace that I let you live."

Genevieve put on a tough façade to not let her parents worry, so they let her move back into her old apartment. Every day, she would sit in the darkest corner, away from windows and entryways, and assume the fetal position and rock back and forth, crying. The voice never went away, and, on occasion, the voice would manifest a hallucination for her where she'd see him. She'd snap out of it with lacerations on her body from her own fingernails. This went on for weeks, and nobody noticed- not even her parents.

Finally, she had had enough. The voice needed to go away, she needed to be free, and she needed to be happy again. She went into the kitchen, grabbed the chef's knife from the storage block, and put the tip to her wrist. She was about to thrust downward when an unfamiliar, yet calming voice broke through the swirl of misery. "You'll make it through." It assured her. "If you kill yourself, that's you bending to his dying wish. You lived through all that, and now you're throwing your good fortune away?"

Her heavy breathing had stopped. All was silent for the first time in months, and sense regained control of her mind. Without any prompting from her mind, her body took control of itself and walked her to the couch where her intelligence calculated her next move.

~*~*~

"Okay, Earth is north… South is…Fire? Yeah, then West Water and East… Air. Okay, so the center…" Genevieve reached for a purple candle to place in the center of her circle. She's beginning to cast a summoning ritual to bring her demon down. In her voice, all she could hear is protest from his spirit.

"What are you doing?! T-that's not going to work you airhead! Just give it up; the others failed, why should this be any different?!."

"If it's not going to work, then why try to persuade me to stop?"

For the first time in a while, the voice was quiet.

Yes, a sign of genius is hearing voices, but insanity if you talk back. But what if you're having a structured conversation with the voice? That would just be Genevieve. She did research on spirits and found a kind of spirit that would haunt someone they fixated themselves on. Upon getting this information, she came across paganistic rituals to rid herself of things like this, so she decided to try a few. Sure the first six failed, but she was always believed in the lucky number 7.

"Let us begin, shall we?" She said out loud to, really, no one in particular.

"I hope this kills _you_ instead."

"Earth is that which nurtures us from birth, and water is that which cleanses us. Fire gives us… gives us…" She peeked at the notes, even though she was certain she had it memorized before. "Fire gives us energy and Air gives us the necessities for life. And Spirit is the key to all life, happiness, and individuality. I summon all of you to help me bring the man who crossed me and help send him away."

At first, nothing had happened. The voice was silent for a time, but got cocky. "Told you, you imbecile." It taunted with a nervous laugh. "You're a powerless girl. Nothing is going to-"

His sudden silence caught the girl's attention. "Going to…?"

Suddenly, she heard heavy breathing and some painful groaning and shredding. Just then, a blood curdling scream rang through the girl's mind. The voice was being ravaged and destroyed.

"NOOO!"Was the only audible word formed.

A few hours later, the noises subsided, but the voice was still there. It wasn't speaking, but she could sense its presence.

"Not going to work?"

"… -gasp-"

"One more word and I'll do it again."

~*~*~

June 17, 1932

About eight years had passed since Genevieve had cast the spell to ruin that voice. Since then, her life got back on track. She got many honors in college, gave everything 110%, and she's even been married twice and is now getting ready to marry a third man who will treat her as nothing less than a queen. Genevieve is truly happy, even though Billy flint still talks to her.

"This is wrong, even by my standards, Gennie." Billy said as Genevieve was putting the last touches on her hair, making it perfect for the wedding.

"That's saying a lot, Billy." She sighed. "But all I learned, I learned from you."

"Don't blame me, missy for your insanity. It's all you. All I did was-"

"I know exactly what you did… and you changed my life, and I'm happy."

"I can't believe I'm saying this, but Jonathan doesn't deserve this- none of your ex-husbands did." _Actually, none of my victims did either…_ He thought to himself, even though she still heard it.

"It this torturing you?" She asked in a faux sympathetic voice.

"Yes!" He shouted. "Yes it is. I get it, you're doing this to show what I did when I was alive was wrong, but I beg you; please don't do this anymore. That's too much. It's not the way you need to show this. You're making your health worse."

"Stop me, and I'll call on _them_ again."

"You know, someday, the elements will get tired of coming to the will of an evil murderess. Then what will you do?"

"Then I guess you'll have to continue being the only witness to my schemes." There was a knock at the door.

"Sienna?"

"Coming, Tom!" She called to her escort. "Now, Billy," she lowered her voice, "today is my big day. Don't ruin it by talking."

"You're going to hell, _Sienna_."

"See you there." She replied, getting up to leave the dressing room. She linked arms with her friend Tom and started down the aisle to marry Jonathan Vandross, the third victim to the Honeymoon Murderess.


End file.
